


Eden sank to grief

by hope_calaris



Category: Franklin & Bash
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_calaris/pseuds/hope_calaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>People are monsters.</i> (aka "The Dystopian Apocalyptic Circus AU with Angels and Powers and Stuff")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eden sank to grief

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s notes:** Um ... yeah, this started out as a way to defy Jen and Vic, because they wouldn't stop talking about circus!au and I'm nothing if not up for a challenge. Then things took a dark turn and I ended up with _this_. It's twisted, it's not happy, you have been warned.  
>  **Disclaimer:** The moment unicorns are real, I make money with this. Title is taken from "Nothing gold can stay" by Robert Frost.

  
People are monsters.

It’s something Peter has known for quite some time in the back of his mind. You don’t wander the earth for ages without seeing the seedier, uglier parts of life.

People are monsters.

They hit, they lie, they hurt, they murder. And men may have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth, but they’re surely not God’s image on earth. And if they are, then Peter wants nothing to do with a God who let his paradise rot and burn; who gave it to people who don’t deserve to be called human, who turn everything they touch into dust and desert and marvel at the fiery trail they leave behind, the stars in their way hidden behind smoke and debris falling from crying skies.

People are monsters.

And never more than when have they turned against each other. When they put cages around beautiful things to keep them locked away, when they can’t stand kindness and have to twist it around until it lies bloodied on the floor, all hope gone, fled into a sky which never turns light again.

It’s a dark place where he’s kept. It reeks of desperation and foulness and when he concentrates he can feel a thousand crushed dreams slipping away under his fingertips on the concrete floor. And he hears the echo of a thousand other voices being cut off when he tries to reach through the metal bars of his cage for the umpteenth time, failing to reach his goal time and time again. The warden mocks him for his futile attempts, like it is a game for him to watch Peter fail, something to be amused by. And it is, for him. Not as big as the show calling itself circus outside Peter’s dark little world, but a show nevertheless. An entertainment. A spectacle. He’s like an infection, festering on a wound too deep to ever heal, never to be cured. That’s what the world has come to; a lost place without a conscience, with streets so dark he doubts even a divine light would penetrate the shadows.

Peter has his own dark moments; when they bring Jared’s lifeless body back and he spends the next few hours anxiously watching his chest move, willing him to take yet another breath; when he counts the visible bruises and the blood coating Jared’s arms and wonders how much more is hidden behind the torn shirt and the worn jeans. It’s in these hours that Peter prays that God is done with this world, that he looks down on what humankind has made of it and decides that it isn’t good anymore, that it is a monstrosity instead and strikes it down, makes everything burn until there’s nothing left of it and the universe forgets they ever existed.

But then, Jared will open his eyes. He will draw a shuddering breath and try to hide the hurt, and he will stretch his arm and fingers and finally, _finally_ , Peter will be able to touch him. Just the fingertips, and it’s not enough, will never be enough, but it’s something at least. It is a connection, however small, and Peter stretches his arm a bit more, grazes the cold skin of Jared’s fingers and Jared gives him a tired smile. “Golden,” Jared whispers enthralled, watching the slender, glowing threads covering Peter’s and his own hands. It’s a delicate pattern, so fragile Peter sometimes is scared it can be blown away by a single breath. Like he’s afraid it won’t take more than a cruel word to finally bring Jared down to a place where even Peter can’t reach him anymore. “Hey,” Jared says, his voice soft and when Peter closes his eyes for a moment he sees the sunlight again, like a distant memory surfacing, “I’m still here.”

 _Yes, but for how long?_ Peter wants to ask, but he doesn’t.

“Tell me something … something beautiful,” Jared says quietly, his fingertips curled in Peter’s palm, and he closes his eyes. Peter stares at him; takes in his tired face, the lines speaking of exhaustion etched into his skin, and for a minute his mind is blank. There’s no beauty in this world anymore, he thinks. No birds rising into a clear blue sky, no easy laughter shared between people who love each other. The land is as barren as people’s minds. “Please,” Jared whispers finally, and Peter can’t refuse him, never could, never will. He grips Jared’s hand a little tighter, anchors him, and Peter closes his eyes again.

People are monsters, but they haven’t always been. There have been different times. He remembers times with sunlight; vibrant and bright, and water so clear that he could see his own reflection in it. He remembers whispered promises that were kept, and kisses that meant life, not death. And sometimes he sees a different Jared, one without scars but with a wide smile, like a flickering glimpse of the past, but he never lingers on these memories because Jared flinches whenever they come up.

 _\- fin_


End file.
